


give it up and get down

by hipboned



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, I couldn't resist, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Underage Drinking, and we all learn a lesson about stereotypes, harry tries to send louis a message, i'm sorry it's another High School AU, louis is uncomfortable with himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipboned/pseuds/hipboned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry tries really hard to act stereotypically gay. Louis tries really hard to act stereotypically straight. It doesn't work; they're both gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give it up and get down

**Author's Note:**

> So in the notes of my last fic I did this thing where I said that posting this wouldn’t take long? And then I did this thing where I had to apply to colleges? And it took a lot more work than expected? And then I developed this thing where I could only write a sentence per hour? It was a time of great hardship?
> 
> Not beta'd or britpicked, obviously. Very sorry for that. There also might be errors in it; I was tired of it sitting around in my documents and didn't take much time to proofread it. Title from Britney Spears' "Inside Out" which is obnoxiously catchy and appears in this story. Also, the first song mentioned at the token "party scene" is "Animals" by Martin Garrix.
> 
> Disclaimer: i don't even own my own house, what do you think

Louis had tried to like straight porn, he really had. He can remember the first time he’d ever encountered it, way back in year four. He’d just received his very own computer ( _finally_ , Lottie was the worst with sharing the family desktop, even though she was just a little kid) and the possibilities that the internet offered him were endless. Link had led to link had led to link, which had led to porn link, eventually. Louis recalls watching the boy in the video clip kiss the girl—they’d been kissing really fast, it seemed—and then they were taking off their clothes and for god’s sake, the boy was putting his willy _inside_ her—

When Louis thinks back on it now, he thinks that the first few times he ever saw straight porn were the times that he most liked it.

He’d been curious, see. Like, before that, he’d known that sex had existed, but he hadn’t known it looked like that. This was new, it was novel. And Louis was interested. So for the rest of year four, he’d sometimes pull up porn on his laptop on the rare occasions that his mum had taken Lottie and baby Fizz shopping, or to a movie that was too kiddy for him. He’d lay there on his bed, watching boys and girls have sex with each other on his screen, and that was it. He’d just watch, almost as if it were the same as any other movie. And after a few months, he’d lost interest in it anyway.

This is why it’d been troubling when he’d grown up a little more, reached year six in school, and suddenly his friends were tentatively breaching the topic of girls and masturbation and sex in their conversations. Little nervous smatterings of _So you guys jack off too, yeah? It’s normal now, right? Yeah, all the time. Same, me too. Mate, I got a boner in class yesterday, it was the worst. I jerked off thinking about Maddie Howard’s boobs last night, they’re huge._ Suddenly, Louis had felt alienated for the first time. Sure, he’d touched himself before, but it was becoming clearer that his friends had watched porn while doing it, or maybe imagined a girl touching them. Louis hadn’t done that. Louis had never thought of anything or anyone while touching himself. He’d just done it, until he came and it was over.

But all of his friends had acknowledged at some point how great porn was, and it was frustrating because Liam and Zayn and Niall and Stan couldn’t all be wrong in combination. So he’d started to try it, putting on porn or thinking about a girl while he wanked, and it was fine. Not very different, though. Louis just couldn’t see what was so great. Meanwhile, his best friends continued to throw out more casual comments of the like, and Louis felt disconnected.

He thinks maybe that was why he’d originally gravitated toward Harry, become closer with him than any of his other mates. Even as they got older, passed through years eight, nine, ten, Harry never seemed to have a girlfriend or a hookup, didn’t talk as much about girls as the other lads did. Sure, he’d mention that he thought Frankie Sandford or Rihanna was fit, but that was the greatest extent of it.

So now, while Liam is getting into a serious relationship, Zayn is hooking up with whoever he wants, and Niall’s constantly flirting with one bird or another, Harry and Louis are playing footie in Louis’ backyard or stuffing their faces with Chinese take-away.

And that’s fine. But Louis still feels like he’s missing out on something. Once, he turns to Harry after yet another round of FIFA on a Friday night and says, “Look at us, Harry, losers who can’t get any girls.” He’d been taking the piss, of course, eyes glinting with humor (in fact, he quite likes spending nights like this with his best mate), but Harry just sighs, leans back, and gazes at Louis with a strange seriousness.

“Yeah,” he finally speaks. “But I just like doing this. Don’t much feel like being anywhere else.”

Louis’ stomach shifts lowly and uncomfortably at that. He hadn’t minded what Harry’d said, so much—thought it was kind of sweet, actually—but the back of his mind is calling out to him, _not okay_ ; so he gives Harry an uneasy grin, coughs, and doesn’t say anything more.

That night, when Harry leaves and all of his family is asleep, Louis goes up to his room and pulls his laptop to bed with him. He brings up PornHub and spends fifteen minutes sifting through lame video titles ( _Young Boy Fucks MILF On Couch, Slutty Blonde Babe Begs for Cock, Step-Daddy Gets Wet Pussy)_ before finding anything that sparks any vague interest. When he finally puts a video on, he shucks his joggers and pants down to his knees and takes his limp cock in hand. He keeps his eyes on the video, focuses on the woman’s bouncing breasts, and waits for his dick to fatten up.

It doesn’t.

And this is where Louis gets really, really frustrated, because this has become a common occurrence. Every male his age gets off to porn. Every single one. Fact of life. So how come every time he tries, he can’t even get it up? The only thing that has ever seemed to work for Louis is closing the computer, shutting off every light possible, and jerking his cock roughly in the dark while he thinks of nothing but his own hand pulling himself to orgasm.

Angry, he slams his laptop shut and shoves it onto the floor beside his bed. He pulls his joggers up and collapses onto his back, shutting his eyes as he sinks into his mattress.

It doesn’t make any sense. Girls are pretty, Louis likes the way their hair can shine and he likes the pink of their cheeks when they blush. He loves to flirt with them, it’s hilarious. But he can’t fucking wank while looking at a naked one. Jesus, it’s like he’s gay!

But no, right? He doesn’t want to have sex with a guy, that shit’s pretty gross. Wouldn’t his dick get shit on?

The truth is, though, that he’s thought about it before. Yes, girls are pretty, and fun, and girlish, and he gets on with them just as well as he gets on with boys. But he remembers noticing when Zayn had matured into his sharp bone structure, when Liam had developed insane abs, when Harry’s voice had grown deep and slow. He remembers the warm curl in his stomach all of that had produced.

To be quite honest, Louis remembers lots of things.

Louis remembers Bethaney, his first kiss and first girlfriend. He remembers the closet they’d been shoved into at Stan’s lame Halloween party in year eight. The game was Seven Minutes in Heaven; the closet was dark. He remembers Bethaney dressed in her rabbit costume, white leotard tucked into white skirt, white homemade bunny ears sitting lopsided on her auburn hair. He remembers how she leant in to kiss him, how his stomach had exploded with nerves. This was it, his first kiss, a time he’d remember for the rest of his life, when the fireworks would go off and the choir would sing, this was it—

He remembers how it’d felt like kissing a brick wall.

This was _it?_ Just that?

And that’s not all of it. Louis remembers when Niall dropped his pants so casually to show off the scar on his hip from his footie wipeout, like he didn’t even care that his dick was being showcased as well, and Louis’ head had spun for hours afterward. He remembers when he’d seen The Notebook with Hannah, a clueless attempt at a date. He remembers the scene in the rain, Allie and Noah’s wet clothes clinging to their bodies, and the sex scene that had followed.  He remembers looking at Rachel McAdams and thinking _wow she is solidly attractive_ and looking at Ryan Gosling and thinking _FUCK_. He remembers how that guy had winked at him on the street once, how nice it’d felt, how he had smiled back for a second before he remembered that he wasn’t gay.

Isn’t gay.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to check, though, yeah? He’s alone in his bed, unable to sleep, and now he’s worried that he’s gay, of all things, Christ. Ridiculous. So, it couldn’t be bad to just like, confirm his lack of homosexuality.

He reaches down and pulls the computer back onto his lap. He opens it up, goes to the categories bar on the porn site. With a trembling hand, he clicks “Gay” and holds his breath. A slew of videos come up. Some seem oddly themed or targeted towards certain kinks, and he avoids those, looking for something as simple as possible. Just man on man. Dicks. On dicks.

He clicks on one finally, and watches as the scene unfolds before him. It’s weird, and he’s uncomfortable at first, because he’s not used to seeing men so fully on camera. The straight porn videos always focus in on the women, cutting the men off as much as possible, until it’s mainly just a fraction of a penis and maybe some strong hands.

This though, is completely different. There are two men onscreen, both older than Louis but clearly still young. One even has nice, wavy dark hair, and beautiful pink lips. He’s smaller than the other, and Louis catches his eyes wandering along his leanly muscled body. They’re just snogging for awhile, until the bigger one ducks down to wrap his lips around the other boy’s dick, sucks him wet and dirty and slow. Louis’ transfixed, getting a bit uncomfortable maybe, but he can’t look away.

The video cuts, and all too suddenly, the smaller, dark-haired boy is getting fucked. Louis inhales sharply as he watches the bigger man drive into the smaller one again and again, relentless, and Dark Hair throws his head back in what must be pure ecstasy, breathing out _oh, yes_ and _yeah, fuck_. It’s too much.

Louis presses the red button in the corner of the window hurriedly. His heart is hammering wildly and he’s certain he’s sweating. He pushes his laptop onto the floor violently, doesn’t care if it breaks, it should break, that’s good. He scrunches his eyes shut so, so tightly, but all he can do is replay images of the video in his mind, it’s horrid. He’s not, he is not, not, not gay. He’s going to leave this behind and never think of it again as he continues on his path to fit girlfriends and happy marriage and blue-eyed children. He will ignore this.

But he doesn’t know if he can. Because Louis is hard, aching in his pants, and nothing could be worse.

 

~

 

When Monday rolls around, Louis sluggishly moves through his weekday morning routine: wake up, get dressed, wake up the girls, herd them all downstairs, pour them bowls of their sugary cereals, kiss his mum goodbye as she takes the girls to school and then goes to work, brush his teeth and try to fix his hair, shove last night’s homework into his bag, wait out front for Liam to pick him up.

Liam pulls up right on time and reaches across to push the passenger door open for Louis, who slides in easily and pulls it shut behind him. “How’re you this morning?” Liam asks with a little smile.

Louis grimaces and tucks his hands, cold from the frosty England air outside, between his thighs.

“Alright, I guess,” he grumbles. He hasn’t been quite right since Friday’s events, the weird conversation with Harry and the weird porn and his own weird reaction. He doesn’t say anything else, instead choosing to examine his regular tight black jeans. They feel weird on Louis today, his whole outfit does. He scowls at his brightly striped shirt and unwraps his scarf from around his neck, then stuffs it into his bag ungracefully.

“Well perk the fuck up,” he hears from the backseat. Louis jumps and whirls around to find Niall in the seat behind Liam’s. He shoots Liam a quizzical glance, and he responds with a sheepish shrug. “Grumps are losers,” Niall finishes. 

“Niall, what the fuck are you doing in Liam’s car?” Louis asks, bewildered. He hadn’t even noticed the blonde until he spoke up. Plus, Niall has his own car, drives himself to school in the mornings.

“Crashed the old Range Rover this weekend, Payno’s giving me a ride.” Niall slumps down in his seat and props his legs up over the back of the driver’s seat, stretching them out and tapping Liam’s head with a Supra-clad foot. Liam crinkles his nose and slaps Niall’s foot down.

Louis would normally laugh at the interaction, but today he only gives a half-hearted shrug and looks back down at his knees.

Now that Liam’s not distracted by backing out of Louis’ driveway or Niall’s feet in his face, he gives Louis a considering look. “Alright, Louis?” he inquires with a frown.

Louis carefully lifts his eyes to meet Liam’s. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay,” Liam replies, eyes back on the road. There’s a downward curve at the corner of his mouth, though. It’s no surprise that his friends have noticed his foul mood so quickly, but Louis can’t help it. He’s just off today.

“Dunno, you’re acting different today,” Niall says casually, no harm meant. For some reason, it gets to Louis.

“I’m not different,” he snaps immediately, but then he sees Niall’s cringe and feels guilt rise in the pit of his stomach. “Sorry,” he grumbles quickly, turning to look out the window. “But I’m not different.”

When Louis gets to his first class of the day and sits down next to Harry, he finally takes a deep breath. The kids in their English class mill about the room, and Harry turns to Louis and smiles.

“We’ve got a project,” he says, so Louis wonders why he’s smiling.

“Out with it, then,” Louis tells him, “what is it?”

Harry taps a piece of paper that’s lying crooked on his desk, and Louis notices that there’s one on his own desk as well. “Partner project,” and he pauses to raise his eyebrows at Louis, who nods back at him. Of course they’ll work together. They always do. Harry always makes sure, though. Then he continues, “we’re to pick a song and analyze like, the lyrics and the sound and how it all comes together to create a meaning.” At this, a grin breaks onto Harry’s face once more.

Louis grins back. This is like a wet dream for Harry. Louis can remember how often they’ve sat together on the loveseat at his house, Harry with his computer on his lap, picking out songs to show Louis. He’d always liked the way Harry looked in those memories, with his headphones tucked into his ears, inadvertently mussing up his curls, music making his smile sleepy.

“Well, finally an English assignment we might not be shit at,” Louis comments, and then their teacher is rounding up the class and beginning her explanation of the project.

On their way out of the room after class, Harry and Louis get stopped by Robyn, who’s one of those girls that Louis’ gone through all his years of school with and yet they’ve never had more than a few conversations. “Louis!” she calls, and he and Harry both turn. “Just wanted to say that I love your shirt.” That’s it, she waves goodbye and walks away.

Louis knows it’s meant to be a compliment, but he can’t help but frown a bit and look down at his shirt. It’s only blue and white striped. But now it seems girly.

His stomach rolls uneasily again, and he feels the sudden urge to be manlier. No more girls saying they like his shirt, no more gay as fuck scarves, and he should definitely grow some facial hair.

Louis sighs, turns to Harry, and asks, “Any song in mind for the project?”

Harry shakes his head. “Dunno, I’ve been into a lot of different stuff lately.”

“Different stuff?” Louis rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “What, like more shit hipster music you found literally underground?”

“Er, not exactly.” Harry’s biting his lip, a blush rising subtly in his cheeks.

At this, Louis raises a gleeful eyebrow and a manic smile peels onto his face. Is Harry actually embarrassed about a music choice? Brilliant. Louis loves to tease, and Harry’s flustered reactions always make him a prime target. “Who, then? Come on, throw some names at me. Don’t be shy.”

“Well, I like Tegan and Sara right now,” Harry sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

Louis hums. “Aren’t they the lesbian twins?”

“Yeah,” Harry responds, and doesn’t seem inclined to elaborate. He’s not looking at Louis, but Louis’ looking at him, and the curly-haired boy’s face is carefully blank.

After a moment of silence, “Huh, okay. So who else?”

Harry looks to his feet as they walk. “No one, that’s really it.” He’s peeking up at Louis now and there’s a little grin threatening to rise on his lips, and Louis knows him well enough to know when Harry’s doing that thing he does. He’ll tell tiny fibs or try to avoid answering a question, but he looks at Louis like he really just wants him to be persistent and put effort into making him talk; he’s playing _coy_.

Louis slips into his loud, comedic voice easily. “Aw, come on Harreh, tell me! Do I have to tug a few curls to get it out of you?”

It turns out he doesn’t. Harry clears his throat, and declares with alarming conviction, “Lady Gaga.”

Louis is silent for all of five seconds. And then he snorts with laughter.

Harry’s face falls visibly. “What’s wrong with Lady Gaga?” he asks.

“Nothing, really,” Louis replies, attempting to appease the other boy. “I mean, she does her thing well. But forgive me if I’m a tad surprised by this development, because this is coming from a lad who regularly jams out to Joni Mitchell.”

Harry gives an inclination of his head in acknowledgment of that fact, but still grumbles, “I maybe wouldn’t call it ‘jamming out’ to Joni, but alright.”

Louis looks at him and smiles. Harry returns the grin, and Louis’ vision zeroes in on his mouth, the outline of his teeth, his dark lips. He shakes himself out of it and looks away.

“Okay,” Harry’s voice comes, lighthearted, “if not Gaga, what did you have in mind?”

Louis tilts his head and considers. His eyebrows scrunch and he feels like he should say something masculine. “What about Eminem?”

Harry’s eyes narrow, and he gripes, “Right, of course. Because you listen to him all the time.”

“I do,” Louis shrugs, flicking his hair. “He’s brilliant, one of the most lyrical rappers in the game.” He wonders if he sounds convincing. He wonders if he sounds like he actually knows what he’s talking about, like he isn’t pulling this out of his arse and a YouTube songwriting demo that referenced Eminem.

“Well, that’s fine, rap aficionado,” he throws a withering glance at Louis, “but I don’t like Eminem.”

“Why not?” Louis asks.

Harry shifts uncomfortably. “He’s very anti-gay in his songs, isn’t he?”

“He’s not _really_ like that, though,” Louis protests. “That’s just his music alter ego.”

“Yeah,” Harry concedes, “but I don’t think it’s okay to put that in your music even if you don’t mean it. Because then the impressionable people who listen to it might think it’s not a big deal to hate on gays. And women.”

“I guess you’re right,” Louis grumbles. At this point, they’ve reached Louis’ next class and passing period is nearly over, so they have to split up. Louis wants to ask why Harry suddenly cares about the gay community so much, but that seems insensitive. Plus, Harry’s just a caring person in general. He never wants to offend anybody, and Louis figures that’s pretty good of Harry, and he should just let that be. Louis says goodbye and turns into his history class without making any inquiries.

 

~

 

It’s half seven in the morning the following day, Liam’s going to be there to pick Louis up in five minutes, and Louis is stark naked in front of his dresser. His eyes roam over his selection of shirts, and he’s not satisfied with his options. Maybe he could wear his white scoop-neck tee? It’s much too tight, though. What about his red Hollister shirt? That’s always been a personal favorite. But he’s not really feeling it today. Louis plunges a hand into his drawer of shirts, digs around for something masculine.

When he finds an old Buffalo Bills shirt that used to be his cousin’s, he thinks that it’ll do. He’s never worn it before because it’s much too big, but right now it seems like it’ll work. He pulls it on and feels comforted by the way it hangs off his body and covers his arse. He’s no longer the curvy boy with the dippy hips and bumpy bum. He’s a certifiable _dude_.

Louis’ still got no trousers on, though, and Liam’s honking at him from outside the house.

He hastily grabs the sweatpants he slept in, tossed to the side on the floor, and slips into them. He makes a snap decision to forgo his usual Toms and gets his feet into a pair of Vans instead, and walks them all the way into Liam’s car.

“Morning, mate,” Liam says, and Louis thinks _yeah, that’s right, I am a mate_. He pictures himself captaining a pirate ship, wearing big shoulder pads and passing an American football, or possibly throwing a javelin while shirtless. _Blokey-bloke mate._

Niall’s there in the backseat again. Louis notices that he’s wearing a snapback and feels jealous. He snatches it off of his blond head and puts it on his own.

“Hey, what’d you do that for?” Niall protests.

“Goes better with my outfit,” is Louis’ instantaneous explanation, and then he curses himself because that sounds ridiculously camp.

Niall doesn’t seem to notice anything out of sorts, though, and just says, “Yeah, guess it does. You’re right, Tommo.”

Liam rolls his eyes and they drive to school without incident.

Harry’s waiting for him in English class again today, chin resting in his hand and eyes on the screen of his phone. Louis peeks over Harry’s shoulder. He’s looking at Cheryl Cole’s Instagram.

Louis takes his seat next to Harry and asks, “Whatcha looking at?”

Harry turns his phone toward Louis so he can see the full body picture of Cheryl in a beautiful dress, lots of cleavage on display. Louis doesn't know why he feels a prickling sensation under his skin. It’s not nice.

“She’s fabulous,” is what Harry says, and Louis feels like spitting.

He swallows down the bitterness that creeps up his throat in order to let out the words, “She is.” Then he tacks on, “Really fucking hot.”

Harry scrunches his eyebrows at Louis. “Listen, I just like her outfit,” he says, and Louis can’t tell what that means, he can’t even read the expression on Harry’s face beyond that it’s not pleasant. He’s confused too, because Harry’s certainly never commented on anyone’s fashion before and Louis can’t tell if he’s upset for some reason or if he’s taking the piss, or anything.

“I know,” he replies even though he doesn't know, even though he feels like he and Harry, who have always been able to understand each other without fail, are having some sort of miscommunication for the first time. Louis’ prickled with frustration that’s quickly growing familiar, seeing as he feels it when he looks at his colorful wardrobe, and when he notices the muscle definition in Harry’s arms, and when his voice doesn't come out in a low enough tone. He’s frustrated and he’s felt weird for days now, so he feels the need to compensate by adding, “And I like her tits.”

Harry looks affronted for a small second, eyes going wide and eyebrows coming down over them, but then he just fidgets and scoffs, “Okay,” then turns away from Louis to face forward in his seat.

Louis wonders if that was out of line for him to say. He’s never been one to openly talk sexually about girls, and that’s one reason why he and Harry mesh so well. But isn’t it time for that to change? Don’t _normal_ boys talk about girls and their bodies that way all the time? Of course they do. It’s not Louis with the problem here, it’s Harry. Louis is totally fine.

Totally.

But still, the seed of panic in Louis’ stomach continues to grow. Because inside he knows that he has no interest in Cheryl Cole or her boobs.

 

~

 

After English class, he doesn’t see Harry again until lunch break. Louis spots his head of curls from across the room, Harry’s sitting at their usual table with Niall, Zayn, and Liam, and even Stan and Dan are there today. Louis crosses the room and plonks himself down in the seat next to Harry and nudges him immediately.

Harry turns his big green eyes on him and suddenly Louis’ breath is short. Their faces are closer than he’d anticipated; Louis’d been leaning in because he’d wanted this exchange to be as private as he could make it. When Harry’s eyes are this close, they’re rather striking. Louis blinks.

“Yeah, Lou?” Harry prompts, because it’s been a couple seconds now and Louis had almost forgotten what he wanted to say.

“Oh,” Louis says, and his voice comes out raspy. He clears his throat. “Look, are we good? Sorry for being a prick in English.”

Harry’s expression softens and he gives Louis a half-smile. “’Course we’re good. You weren’t being a prick, I was being— weird.”

“You weren’t,” Louis assures him. “It’s whatever.” Harry’s eyes are still trained on him and his smile is growing, and now Louis feels some odd sort of pressure on the left side of his chest, like right about where his heart would be. Ugh, can’t he bring some sort of normalcy into any of his interactions with Harry anymore? He looks away. “Yeah, whatever, no worries. Hey, are you coming with us to Cher’s party on Friday?”

“Oh, are you going?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno, sometimes you and me just hang out instead of going to whatever party. Just the two of us.”

Louis is a little bit disgruntled when he realizes that it’s true. They’d skipped out on Josh’s party a few weeks ago because neither of them really felt up to it. They’d stayed at Harry’s and watched a movie instead, huddled up under a blanket on the couch together. Louis chews on his bottom lip. “Nah, I really want to go to Cher’s. It should be good.”

Harry nods and responds, “Alright then. I’m in.”

So that’s how they end up pulling up to Cher’s house in Zayn’s dumb Honda Civic just before ten o’clock on Friday night. Even as they’re parking it’s easy to tell that the party’s in full swing, and Zayn groans as he rips the keys out of the ignition. “Why am I designated driver again?”

Niall pats his cheek from the passenger’s seat. “Because Liam’s done it for the last three parties we went to. It’s time for him to get smashed.”

They all unload themselves from the car and Zayn grumbles about “I wanna get smashed too” and Niall lets out a big laugh at that. The five of them walk into the party together.

Cher’s house is monstrously huge, and there are a lot of people inside. Despite the crowd, Liam has no trouble finding his girlfriend right away, and they disappear pretty much immediately. Louis, Harry, Niall, and Zayn all make their way through the rest of the place, greeting people they know and searching for the alcohol. They come to a huge table of it in the kitchen, and Louis grabs the vodka while Niall pulls out three red Solo cups and lines them up. Louis pours a little over a shot’s worth into each, and he, Niall, and Harry each pick one up. Niall grins, “Cheers,” and they bump their plastic cups together and down the shots in unison. Zayn glares jealously.

After getting the initial shot down, Niall grabs a beer from the bucket of ice all the beers are thrown in and then seems to be eyeing someone with interest from across the room. Louis follows his line of sight. Some brown-haired girl he doesn’t know. He rests an elbow on Niall’s shoulder. “Who’s the girl you’ve already found?” he smirks, gives a teasing raise of his eyebrows.

“I don’t know, actually,” Niall says, “but I’m about to find out.” Louis gives him a half-tipsy salute and lightly pushes him in the girl’s direction. When he turns back to Harry, he finds that Zayn’s not with him anymore.

“Where’s Zayn?” he asks, pouring himself another shot of Smirnoff.

Harry’s eyes are focused on his cup in which he’s mixing some sort of concoction that involves vodka, apple cider, and cranberry juice. “He went to the bathroom,” he says, suddenly looking up and smiling at Louis full-force. Louis gulps his second shot down.

They’re approached then by Jade and Jesy, who’ve come to say hi and give them each a hug. Louis likes them both a lot when he’s sober, but he’s starting to feel the alcohol a bit more now as he’s working on his third drink, which is a half-vodka, half-Pepsi combination, and he watches where Jesy rests her hand on Harry’s shoulder with the gaze of a hawk.

Jade starts to talk about walking in on Hannah and Dan’s drunken snog, narrating the story with little throaty giggles. It really is a funny story, because Hannah and Dan pretend to hate each other when they’re sober, but Louis can’t bring himself to give Jade more than a few light chuckles because he’s busy wondering if Jesy’s going to try to hook up with Harry. He tries to wash down the bitterness the thought brings him by chugging the rest of his drink. His throat burns still now, but in a different way.

Louis shakes his head to clear his mind. “What should I drink next?” he asks aloud.

Jesy smiles big and grabs a blue bottle from the table of booze. She gives it a little shake and hands it to Louis, exclaiming, “Bitches love Bombay!”

Louis laughs and says, “’M not a bitch!” but takes the Bombay Sapphire gin from her anyway, unscrews the cap and raises it to his lips with a smirk like he’s going to take a swig straight from the bottle, and everyone laughs like it's comedic genius.

Jade gives a little whoop and Harry shouts in his loud, drunk voice, “That is unsanitary!” He laughs and then continues in a lower chuckle, “You should do it anyway.”

So Louis takes a shot of gin straight from the bottle, and Harry, Jade, and Jesy follow his lead. Jesy’s not touching Harry anymore and Louis is having a great fucking time.

In fact, when he looks up at Harry, he thinks that he shouldn’t have been worried about Jesy at all, because the sober piece of his brain is remembering something about Jesy having a new boyfriend, and Harry? He’s looking right at Louis, eyelashes sweeping low over his green eyes, mouth sipping demurely at his red cup that he’s apparently now got filled with another drink. Louis bites his lip and lets out an audible groan. It’s okay. No one’s going to know what he’s groaning about. No one’s going to know that he’s gay, and he thinks his best friend is really fucking hot.

Shit. He needs another drink.

Jesy and Jade fall silent for a moment and then both let out a burst of laughter. Louis feels his cheeks heat, because they’re both laughing at the decidedly sexual noise he just let out, but right now he can’t make himself care for more than five seconds.

“We should go find Perrie and Leigh,” Jade says, taking Jesy’s wrist in her small hand. “We’ll see you guys later.” Jesy throws a wink over her shoulder at Louis while she and Jade walk away.

Hm. So they're just…okay with that? The suggestion that something could happen between Louis and Harry? Louis slaps his own cheeks. Nothing’s going to happen between him and Harry.

There’s been music drifting in from another room the entire time, but it seems louder now that Harry is swaying his hips to it subtly. Louis laughs. Harry can’t dance for shit, but alcohol makes him a bit better. The beat is scratchy and kind of grating, but Louis likes it when the bass breaks down and something more plucky and ringing comes in, and he starts to move a little bit too.

“You wanna go dance?” Harry asks, and Louis feels like he should definitely say no, but the alcohol is thrumming through his blood and pulsing in his veins.

Louis nods heartily. “I really do.”

Harry grins crookedly at Louis and takes his hand. They go into next room, which is substantially more full of teenagers dancing like idiots. Harry and Louis hop into the midst of it and have fun doing dumb, crazy moves and jumping around for the rest of the song and the one after it too. Harry’s done at least five separate shimmies, and Louis may have imitated the girl next to them, who is furiously pop-locking-and-dropping on the bloke she’s dancing with. It’s all good. It’s all fun. This is normal, they’re just them, it’s fine, the buzzing in Louis’ tummy can quit because nothing is going to change between him and his best mate, no matter how pissed they are.

Except for then the song changes into something slower, dirtier, high electronic tones plinking over the deep, sparse bass thrums that have Harry’s hips really swinging. And then Harry’s huge hands are on Louis’ hips and he’s turning the shorter boy around, pulling Louis’ back into his chest.

Louis sucks in a gasp and his stomach is doing cartwheels but he just feels _so_ hot and Harry’s hand is inching down his thigh, so Louis presses himself back into Harry’s form with equal force. Their bodies are completely lined up now, still moving to the music, and Louis kind of recognizes Britney Spears’ distinctive auto-tune ringing out on the track, but he’s so not focused on that, he’s focused on how Harry’s warm breath is on the right side of his neck, a beautiful precursor to the lips that are now pressed into the skin of Louis’ throat. Louis lets out an unashamed moan, which is crazy because _this is his male best mate_ but Louis feels heat pooling in his groin and pushes his arse back into Harry, really grinds on him as best he can.

 _You’re the only one who ever drove me crazy_ , Louis hears from around him, and he hums in agreement.

Harry nips at his neck lightly and one of his hands comes up to span over the entirety of Louis’ abs. Louis can feel Harry getting the slightest bit hard through his jeans, and he reaches a hand over and behind him to comb through Harry’s curls, pulling a bit where his hair hits the back of his neck. Harry moans into Louis’ skin and the vibration of it has Louis turning around finally, wrapping his arms securely around Harry’s neck and rocking their hips together. Harry’s eyes are boring into Louis’ and for now Louis doesn’t care about anything that anyone else thinks, he needs those ridiculously red lips of Harry’s on his.

Louis presses his crotch into Harry’s, and that has the taller boy tilting his head back in a silent moan. Louis takes the opening, sucks a wet kiss into Harry’s jaw, then a little higher, the bottom of his cheek just below his lips, and then Harry’s mouth is _right there_ and Louis’ moving in—

The song cuts.

“It’s the cops!” someone shouts.

Louis stumbles back and tries to survey his surroundings. He and Harry both seem disoriented. Everyone around is running, trying to hide or clear the area, and suddenly a couple police officers are strolling into the room, shining flashlights into the dark.

“Listen kids, it’s either go home or go to the police station, and you all are too young to be coming with us,” an officer says loudly. Louis sees Harry looking around himself, anxious and lost.

It’s him that takes hold of Harry’s wrist, guides him into the hallway and out the front door. From the first moment that they’re touching again, Harry’s eyes never leave Louis.

Zayn, Niall, and Liam are already in the car. Zayn has it running and waiting for them. Liam’s girlfriend is seated innocently on his lap in the backseat, and Harry and Louis scoot in next to them.

Harry keeps a firm grip on his hand the whole ride home, and Louis’ not the only one who notices. When Liam sees Harry rubbing soft circles into the back of Louis’ hand with his thumb, fingers clasped on Harry’s lap, he gives them the brightest, most uncontained happy smile in the world. “Is that going on, then?” he asks, pleased.

Louis starts, and he immediately wants to rip his hand away, snap _no_ and look out the window for the rest of the car ride, but he doesn’t, because he wants to hold Harry’s hand and Liam looks positively ecstatic about this new development. Shouldn’t he have misgivings, or at least be the tiniest bit surprised about two of his best friends hypothetically going gay for each other?

Harry just chuckles and cuddles into Louis’ side.

 

~

 

Louis wakes up the next day to a pounding headache and an unread text from Harry.

 _How’s your hangover?_ it says. Another one comes in just then.

 _Wanna see you today_ _.x_

Louis breathes in deeply and collapses back into his pillows. He remembers most of what went down at Cher’s. God, he hopes Jesy hadn’t noticed him scowling at her, she definitely has a boyfriend she seems to really like.

And yeah, he remembers dancing with Harry. _Grinding_ on Harry. He expects to feel faintly queasy at the memory, but is surprised to find that he doesn’t.

It was kind of a highlight. Is that okay?

Louis groans and wraps himself into a ball under the covers of his bed. It’s rapidly becoming very clear that he has some… _feelings_ about Harry that he needs to confront. Like, perhaps the way his heart stutters when Harry smiles at him should be part of that conversation with himself. Maybe his strong urge to caress Harry’s thighs, also. That might be important.

He reopens his text conversation with Harry and replies, _come pick me up in 1 hour?_

 _See you then_ :) _x_ he gets back instantly. It prompts him to roll out of bed and into a lazy morning shower. When he gets dressed, he first throws on a purple sweatshirt, but once he breathes its scent in, he remembers that it was originally Harry’s. He freezes for a moment, debates whether or not to keep it on, and then decides not to. Louis goes for a black sweatshirt that he knows is his instead. He’s finally trying to get more comfortable with the idea of liking Harry, but being able to literally smell Harry on him for an extended period of time, especially in the boy’s presence, is just a little too much.

So Louis continues to get ready. And after he’s brushed his teeth twice, put on too much deodorant, made his bed, and tried to do the downward dog yoga pose, he realizes that he may have come to a nervous breaking point. It’s probably good, then, that the ring of the doorbell interrupts his thoughts before they can turn drastic.

Harry is on the other side of the front door when Louis opens it. He gives Louis a shy grin, like he’s a little bit nervous. Louis knows how Harry feels; even though they’ve given no outward indication of any change yet, something seems different between them.

Harry steps in and wraps Louis up in a hug, asks, “You feeling okay?” and truth be told, Louis had almost completely forgotten about his headache ever since Harry’s name had appeared on the screen of his phone.

“A lot better, yeah,” Louis nods. “What about you?”

Harry’s smile gets bigger. “I’m good. So, I thought maybe we could do something fun?”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Our usual idea of fun is eating greasy food and lazing around on my couch. I presume you have something different in mind?”

Harry chuckles and nods. “Kind of. Do you have a basket?”

That one throws Louis for a loop. “I don’t know, mate, that depends on what you’re planning on doing with it.”

He shrugs, “Nothing treacherous,” and shoots a grin.

Louis rolls his eyes, but smiles back and tells him, “There should be one by the washing machine.”

The other boy nods at this and continues without needing further direction, because he knows Louis’ house top to bottom. Louis follows Harry as he collects the basket, a blanket, and a few throw pillows. Then he’s in the kitchen with him, watching Harry make sandwiches and glance back up at him every now and then.

He’s positioned to Harry’s side, facing him and leaning with one elbow onto the kitchen counter. It would be so easy to reach out and touch, rest his palm against the area between Harry’s pronounced shoulder blades, and Louis wants to. He wants that simple gesture so badly that he can’t help but actually do it, relieves the buzz under his fingertips that calls for Harry.

When Harry smiles at him for the movement, unbridled, Louis thinks everything might be okay.

The reality of the situation is that the only person Louis’ always felt completely right with is Harry. And no amount of potential discrimination, frustration, or confusion could ever make him give that up.

Once he’s done preparing everything, Harry piles it all into the basket. “Ready for our picnic, Lou?” he asks. Picnic, of course. Louis doesn’t know how he hadn’t deduced that immediately.

“Of course,” he replies. “I was born ready for our picnic.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He looks confused, which confuses Louis. “You’re not going to change?”

Well, then.

“Er, no, wasn’t planning on it. What, do I look horrendous?”

“No, never, sorry. It’s just not your usual style, so I figured that they were like, lounge clothes or summat. Ignore me.”

“I could never, dear Harold,” he smiles in response. That’s kind of the issue at hand.

With that, they’re on their merry way. Harry drives them to a really nice, expansive park and when they find a spot he spreads out their blanket under the forgiving clear sky. He looks wonderful with the rare England sun reflecting in his eyes. Harry shines so bright. Louis thinks sometimes he’s blinded.

Louis sits, picks at the blue and white gingham of the blanket, and curls his knees into his chest.

Harry tries to make conversation and Louis responds only fleetingly. It peters out as it becomes increasingly clear that Louis’ just going to be unusually quiet. Finally, Harry sighs, “Louis, you’re wearing socks and sandals. Is there like, something you want to talk about?”

Louis looks down at his feet. He is, indeed, wearing socks and sandals. They’re the worst kind of sandals, too, the Adidas slide sandals that are black with three white stripes and Velcro across the top. They really are god awful. Louis looks like a wannabe American basketball-playing teen. He’d borrowed them from Stan in a blatant attempt to look straighter. He can’t even make excuses for himself anymore, that’s what he’s been doing. He’s been going around acting strangely and wearing different clothes and not being himself so that he could distance himself from the part of his brain that knows he’s gay.

It hasn’t really worked. It probably won’t ever work.

So Louis says, “Actually, yeah. There is. I want to talk about why I don’t find girls attractive.”

It’s a huge, fucking terrifying step. But if he wants to stop feeling miserable all the time, it’s one he has to take.

Louis waits for Harry to look shocked or uncomfortable, or even get angry with him. He knows that Harry is by no means homophobic, but finding out that your best friend is gay certainly must change a lot of things. So Louis waits.

What happens is that Harry’s face softens, and he gently says, “Oh. Yeah, okay. Let’s talk about it.”

So then Louis’ a bit thrown off, because he wasn’t expecting to actually have to talk about it. He figured they’d both just kind of freak out and clam up and inch away from each other. But Harry’s openness once again knows no bounds, and Louis figures he should probably stop being surprised by that. Maybe someday.

Louis clears his throat. “I guess I. I don’t know. It’s just, girls are like, fine. But I don’t really…I don’t really…” He feels his throat start to close in on itself. He never imagined how hard it could be to utter just a few words. Louis had thought he could just say it, blurt it out to Harry and feel horrified after the fact, but the only words ringing in his head are _you think you can do these things but you just can’t, Nemo!_

Louis is Nemo. Louis is a fish. And he is thoroughly and completely out of his ocean.

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” Harry cajoles, opening his arms for Louis to scoot into. He hesitates minorly, but then crawls closer and fits himself against Harry’s side, letting his long arm fall around him and tucking his head under Harry’s chin.

“I’m gay,” Louis peeps, and as soon as the words are out he wants to suck them back up, hide them, vomit them into a black hole. But instead he’s given them to Harry, who he knows will hold them nice and warm in his hands. That helps. It helps.

“That’s okay,” Harry coos. “No problem. Take you any way you are, Lou.”

“I just, I know I haven’t been acting like myself lately. All the different outfits, different music, all of that? Was just me trying to be straight.”

“Yeah,” Harry brushes one of his hands through Louis’ hair, “But why? ‘Cause you were worried people might get weird around you if they could tell?”

“Sort of,” Louis admits. “I didn’t want people to just think ‘ _gay_ ’ as soon as they saw me. I didn’t want to talk to people and wonder if the whole time they were thinking ‘ _what a faggot_ ’.”

“No, Louis, no,” Harry says, tone still kind but forceful. Usually Louis’ too proud to be coddled, but right now he needs it. “Now why would they think that?”

Louis’ not going to _cry_ , but he can feel his eyes growing wet when he answers, “Because that’s what I think when I look in the mirror.”

“Oh, Lou,” Harry sighs. “Look at me.” Louis won’t, so Harry takes his face into his own hands, angles it up until Louis has no choice but to meet his eyes. They’re insistent, and something jolts in Louis at the sight of them. “There is so much more to you,” Harry continues, “than that you’re gay. I know it sounds cheesy but you need to hear it. You are bright and funny and lovely and so smart sometimes, so, so wonderful I feel lucky just to be around you. _That’s_ what people think of when they see you.”

Louis’ heart practically purrs at Harry’s words, and he actually feels reassured. There could not be a better boy than Harry. “You really mean that?”

“Of course.” Harry’s declared it with such certainty that it makes Louis’ brain tick, think _maybe_. “And I don’t mean this in a bad way at all, but I think that maybe the only person who has a problem with this is you, Louis. Harshest critic is yourself, or whatever it is.”

Louis thinks back to the car on the way home from Cher’s party, when Liam had seemed so happy that he and Harry might like each other. Also, he’d dressed the same way for years before he’d been scared of being gay, and no one had ever thought him weird for it. Maybe he really is the only one bothered by his camp tendencies, or being gay in general. A rush of affection for Harry surges through him at the realization that Harry is constantly making Louis’ life better. He decides that if he’s going to fuck things up massively, he might as well do it now, before he gets too used to that betterment. So after a while of silence, Louis whispers: “I want to talk about how stupid I am for you.”

Harry shifts then. “What?”

Louis laughs ruefully. “Do you want to run away now?”

The other boy doesn’t say anything in response to that, just drags himself around until he’s facing Louis full-on. “Say it again.”

Louis worries his bottom lip between his teeth and repeats, “Do you want to run away now? Leave me in the dust and never talk to me again.”

He feels the impact of Harry lightly slapping his right knee, but the curly-haired boy doesn’t retract his palm after. “Not that, dolt, the other thing.”

“Oh,” Louis replies, tone aiming for light but achieving nervous, “you mean me having a homosexual crush on you? That’s, well. That’s a funny story.” He scratches his head and avoids Harry’s eyes at all costs. “Do I have to explain it?”

“No,” Harry says. Louis is bewildered when a wide grin settles on his face. “I’ve heard enough.”

And then his hands are on the ground on either side of Louis and he’s leaning into his space and kissing him.

It takes Louis a moment to respond, because this was probably last on his list of expectations from today, but Harry’s lips are tender while sure against his. When Louis kisses back, he does so in earnest.

Then Harry releases Louis’ bottom lip from between his, and Louis says, “What.”

He feels Harry’s hand come up to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers combing through the bottom of his hair as Harry says, “The whole time you were trying to act straight? I was trying to act gay. Because I figured out a couple years ago that I am, and I’ve just kinda been waiting for you to notice me.”

Louis’ head is spinning at this new information, but it feels less heavy all the same. “I always noticed you,” he breathes. “I just had to take a little while to realize it.”

Harry beams, then looks down as a blush rises on his happy face. “I thought that if you figured out that I’m gay, you might make a move or something? I dunno, it was probably stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Louis insists. “Just not successful while I was trying so hard to be a douche.”

Harry laughs and tackles Louis back onto the picnic blanket, arms looped around his waist, and oh yeah, they’re in a public place. Not many people are around though, and Harry doesn’t seem to mind. He’s nuzzling his nose into Louis’ cheek like the goober that Louis knows he is. Louis registers that this situation has escalated extremely quickly, but Harry’s been his best mate for ages, so taking their relationship somewhere else doesn’t even feel like that much of a change. Harry says, “Glad you’re done with that, then. I especially didn’t like the part when you were praising Cheryl Cole’s boobs.” His big green eyes are blinking at Louis, and he’s too close to his face for Louis to see his mouth, but he can see Harry’s mirthful smile in his eyes. “That was a particularly uncomfortable and disappointing moment for me.”

“Me too,” Louis agrees, “But there’s no need for jealousy, Harry. You’ve got great boobs too.”

Harry’s head falls back against the picnic blanket, voice erupting in chuckles, and his lighthearted “Fuck off!” is swallowed up by Louis’ mouth on his.

 

~

 

He and Harry spend the rest of the weekend together, for the most part. They watch movies and take walks and play footie and do the same things they did when they were just friends, but now it’s that slightest bit different. Their kisses and cuddles add another dimension to their relationship that Louis hadn’t realized he’d been missing. They’d been oblivious to what they lacked before, but now that they have it, they’ve reached a certain level of completeness. Louis’ never felt such an extreme closeness with anyone in else in his entire life.

When Sunday is drawing to a close, sun setting heavy beyond the horizon, he and Harry are wrapped up in each other on Harry’s bed. Harry is clearly pretending to watch The Spectacular Now; Louis knows he’s not really watching because his eyes don’t move at all when the scene changes. However, he _is_ casting glances at Louis, little looks magnified by the feeling of his fingers brushing patterns in Louis’ arm.

When their eyes meet, Louis drops all pretense of watching the movie and rolls over to straddle Harry, connecting their lips. The curly-haired boy fumbles with the remote while trying kiss back with complete focus—the volume on the TV briefly gets louder before it completely shuts off. With his hands free, Harry rubs long caresses up and down the backs of Louis’ thighs and just briefly up over his arse.

Suddenly Louis finds his back against the bed and Harry above him, trailing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Louis curls his fingers into Harry’s hair for purchase, something to tie him to the physical world that moves along around them while they seem so suspended in time during moments like these that come increasingly more often. Tomorrow, school starts again for the week and they have to figure out exactly how they’re going to play it, what they’re going to tell people (if anything). But now, Louis feels safe and unbounded.

“I want to try something,” he says through several shaky exhales. Harry is working on one of his collarbones now, tugging the neckline of his tee shirt down hesitantly, so that Louis is free to push him away or pull him back up if he wants. “But I’m a little nervous to do it,” he adds.

Harry draws back slightly, asks, “What is it?” with a gentle light in his eyes.

Louis wriggles a bit until Harry gets the message and lets him out from under his body. Once he’s free to move Louis pushes himself off the bed and onto his knees by the side of it, reaches his hands behind Harry’s kneecaps and tugs softly to urge him to the edge of the mattress.

Louis watches tentative realization cross over Harry’s features, thinks he might understand what he wants to do.

He trails his fingers over Harry’s legs and up to the waistband of his jeans, to the button and zip. “Is this okay?” Less inquiry, more curiosity.

Harry nods his assent with widened eyes. He must be surprised at the turn of events. In what limited hooking up they’ve been able to pack into these couple days, Harry has been the driving force, guiding but patient, always making sure Louis was on board with what he did.

Now, though, Louis’ poised to push things a tad further. Positioned between Harry’s legs, he undoes Harry’s flies and tugs his jeans down over his knees, eyes lingering on the crotch of Harry’s black boxer briefs, where he’s half-hard already. Just a bit of friction from Louis’ hand and his cock starts to fill up more fully, tenting his pants something obscene. Louis kind of wants to take a picture.

“You’re such a horny teenage boy,” Louis giggles.

“As if you’re any better,” Harry pouts in response, circling his hips under Louis’ palm just a bit, desperate for some kind of motion. Louis scoffs, but proceeds in peeling Harry’s pants off. The head off his dick gets caught in the waistband, making for an unintentional slow tease before Louis pulls the cloth all the way off and Harry’s cock bobs back up to full attention. Louis feels blood rush to his own dick at the sight.

He takes Harry’s erection in hand lightly, and Harry breathes out in a puff and the contact. Encouraged, Louis tightens his grip begins to pump him, slow for now. The same little breaths escape Harry at a steadier pace. Louis retracts his hand to lick up his palm and then brings it back.

Then, he lowers his head until he’s level with Harry’s cock.

He hears Harry’s sharp intake of air, looks up at him from beneath his eyelashes. “I want to,” Louis tells Harry in a low rumble, “But I dunno if I can, really? What if I’m rubbish?”

“That’s okay,” Harry says. “You don’t have to. Whatever you want.” He doesn’t even sound like he’s swallowing disappointment. That’s what gives Louis a little push of momentum.

“Take your shirt off, don’t want anything in the way.” Harry does so frantically. Louis resumes motion with his hand and ducks forward that last bit until he can press his lips to Harry’s tip, just softly. “Tell me if I, um, do anything wrong.”

“You’re perfect, babe,” Harry lulls instantly, shaking his head. “So perfect.”

He doesn’t think he can just open up and swallow Harry’s dick, so he decides he’ll build up. His tongue flicks out to lick at where Harry’s precome is gathering, gives several kitten licks to the head of Harry’s cock. From there, he licks all the way up the underside of the shaft, and at that Harry lets out a real, throaty groan. For a moment Louis stills in worry because he realizes that he has no idea if Anne and Robin are in the house. He’s not too concerned about being explicitly walked in on because he knows Harry’s door is locked, but still. He figures Harry wouldn’t moan so loud if they were around, though, so he supposes it’s alright. Besides, the idea of someone hearing how much he pleases Harry is hot, even if it is his parents.

He drags his tongue up the length of Harry’s cock again, sees Harry’s fingers tighten in his bed sheets as he keens with greater frequency. He feels the buildup to Harry’s orgasm rising in the atmosphere, picks up the pace as he jerks Harry’s cock.

When he takes the full head of Harry’s dick into his mouth, presses his tongue into the slit and sucks as hard as he can, Harry comes undone with a broken moan of “Lou” and hot come spills onto Louis’ tongue. Louis swallows it down and finds that he doesn’t mind the bitterness too much as long as it’s Harry’s.

Harry’s body sags in the relief of his orgasm, huge smile spreading sleepily across his face as he looks down adoringly at Louis through crinkly eyes. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs, leaning down as Louis rises up on his knees to kiss him. “Now get up here and let me take care of you.”

 

~

 

Louis rises the next morning with a healthy glow in his cheeks that he assumes only a good blow job can produce; he wouldn’t quite know, as the one Harry’d given him to return the favor last night is the only one he’s ever received. Harry had certainly been better than him, sucking Louis all the way down and such, but then, Harry’s the more experienced of the two of them. Which kind of makes his blood boil when he thinks of Harry getting close to anyone else’s penis, but whatever. That’s in the past now and there’s nothing to be done about it.

Liam picks him up as usual, sans Niall this week. He spies Louis’ smug grin almost as soon as he gets in the car, wonders, “What’s got you out of your foul morning mood?”

Louis just claps him on the shoulder and leaves it at, “There’s nothing a good orgasm can’t turn around.”

Liam’s nose crinkles and he says, “Okay, on one hand, that’s nasty, mate. But on the other hand, you’re completely right.”

When it comes time for lunch, he’s sitting next to Harry as always, but they’re sidled up close to one another until their sides are completely pressed together.

Louis surveys the table. Zayn and Niall are clowning around across from them, Zayn’s arm slung over Niall’s shoulder while the blonde boy mischievously messes up Zayn’s quiff. Liam slides in next to them with a bright smile for everyone, and Harry beams back at him with just as much enthusiasm. Louis’ heart squeezes with affection for his best friends. He feels two of Harry’s long fingers walk their way over the back of Louis hand, which is resting low on the bench. When Harry finally envelops Louis’ whole hand in his own, Louis feels the familiar little flutter in his tummy and looks around. The rest of them don’t notice anything different yet, but Louis knows that they will. He thinks of the way his life has shaped up, the world that he and his boys have built, and knows that it’s the safest, most loving world he could ever live in. Someday soon, he and Harry will hold hands above the table, and it’ll be fine.

See, it doesn’t really matter what anyone else says, because Louis’ okay with himself. Someday soon, he’ll hold Harry’s hand proudly in the hallway, and it will be wonderful. Someday very, very soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay hope you liked it alright! This has taken me forever to write, but hopefully I'll be able to work more quickly now that I'm not applying to colleges or taking care of financial aid. I kind of gave up at the end, but I hope that it wasn't painfully apparent. Thanks so, so much for reading, and feel free to leave me constructive criticism in the comments! Or just say hi!
> 
> ALSO follow me on tumblr if you feel inclined. I'm at [harisbueller](http://www.harisbueller.tumblr.com/).


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